


the world can get my bones

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mania Era, Medical Procedures, Patrick gets sick but like he's fine I promise, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: “1-10?” Joe asked.“Fuckin’ 10,” Patrick grit out. “Go away.”“I think we should explore the hospitals available in this town,” Joe said.“No,” Patrick said.“Do you want me to ask Andy?” Joe asked. “Because I don’t think he’ll be as nice as me.”-----Mid-tour, Patrick gets sick. He's worried about disappointing people by canceling shows. Luckily, he's got his husband and best friends to tell him otherwise. Featuring an ugly as shit bear and kisses.





	the world can get my bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> this is a semi-fic exchange with @sunflashes bcs we are both recovering from being Sick As Frick and wanted to cheer each other up by making patrick fucking miserable as shit. go read hers, it’s better.
> 
> takes place on the mania tour. which one you ask? use your imagination i say. pete&patrick are married in this bcs it makes it easier with the whole doctor/hospital thing and i am one Lazy Bitch.
> 
> also woah look at that i actually can write in band verse what a fucking concept.

Mid-tour was fucking exhausting. 

At the beginning of tour, everyone was too excited to be tired, and at the end of tour, they were living on a high, but in the middle? It was mind-numbingly tiring, making them drag their feet and whine and bitch almost non-stop. 

They did know by now to spread out and keep apart from each other when they got that way, to preserve everything about their friendship. In particular, Pete and Patrick kept far away from each other when one or the other was pissed off, because they valued their goddamn marriage. 

Pete admitted he could be a little…..tough at times, even still, but that fact didn’t even scratch the surface of the sheer amount of out-and-out _bitch_ he was being today. It was pouring down rain and they were on the bus, flying down the highway, and Pete seemed like he was doing absolutely everything in his power to piss off every single person in the immediate vicinity. 

“Pete,” Brian, their tour manager, said calmly. “One of them is going to hit you and I will not feel sorry for you.”

Whatever. 

Pete hadn’t slept well the past few nights, up on Twitter getting angry at Donald Trump and rude-ass fans and just generally not even attempting to use any of his anti-insomnia breathing exercises he’d learned. He’d pissed his husband off so much Patrick had climbed into one of the free bunks and ignored him. 

The combination of Pete not sleeping well and Patrick still hidden in the bunk, ignoring him, just made Pete’s attitude problem worse. It was a vicious cycle, and Pete knew it, but fuck him if he was able to stop himself at this point. 

“I’m going to deck you,” Joe said, and Andy quickly stepped between them. 

“Let’s just calm down,” he said reasonably. “Brian? How about we pause for food or something? Some air and space?”

“I don’t need air or space,” Pete muttered darkly, and Andy looked like he was summoning the ancient god of patience. 

“You’ve pissed off two out of three of us,” he said calmly. “Do you want to go for three for three? Seriously. Chill out. You’re going to have to defrost Patrick already, don’t make things worse for yourself.”

Pete scowled. 

“Seriously,” Andy said, dropping his voice. “Stop.”

The bus slowed and Pete scowled harder, grabbing his sweatshirt and heading straight for the door. Andy caught his arm as he passed and gave him a _meaningful_ look. _Fuck_ him.

“Would you like to say anything to _your husband?”_ Andy said, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” Pete said shortly, and stormed out of the bus the second it stopped. 

Probably a dumb decision. The rain soaked him through immediately, the sweatshirt doing absolutely nothing to keep him dry, and he trudged towards the strip mall with determination, putting the bus and his asshole band to his back. He didn’t even have words for how annoyed literally everything was making him. 

He yanked open the door to a Burger King, wincing as he dripped onto the floor, and shoved his hands in his pocket, glancing up at the menu. Fuck. He just wanted an enormous burger and fries and a milkshake and to not be in the same 200 square foot space as three other people for at least an hour. He loved all of them _so much_ , but just. 

He couldn’t right now. 

He inhaled half the burger a little too fast, chewing loudly and grossly in the exact way that usually prompted Patrick to smack his arm and tell him he wasn’t an _animal,_ Peter, would you please _slow down?_

Fuck. He really was going to have to play nice to Patrick for a while to patch things up between them. He was reasonably confident Patrick wouldn’t divorce him over this stupid fight, but Pete actually was sorry. Patrick was the least dickish of them all this time around and received all Pete’s anger for the effort. 

He slurped his milkshake a little sadly and sighed. Yeah. He was kind of a dick and it was basically 100% on him. He was going to have to suck up to all of them, and Lord knew Joe was going to abuse _that_ privilege. Not that Pete didn’t deserve it. The opposite, actually. 

Pete glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d been gone, like, an hour. Ish. The others were probably eating at a normal pace, so Pete had maybe another half hour ish to poke around the strip mall for suitable _I’m sorry for being the world’s biggest dick_ gifts. 

Half an hour later, he’d acquired them after a lengthy stay at a dusty record shop, an awkward trip to the Disney store, and a frankly terrifying encounter at a vegan bakery. Pete didn’t know it was possible to feel stupid by association. He didn’t realize asking if everything was vegan was a laughable offense.

A Bowie record Pete knew for a fact Patrick had lost in the move, those stupid Funko figurines of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, and literally 24 vegan cupcakes should smooth things over. At least, he hoped so. He stole a cart from the grocery store to transport the mess back to the bus, and had just put one foot on it to use it like a scooter when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

“Yeah,” Pete said after fumbling in the still-damp denim for far too long. “I’m fine.”

“Cool,” Brian said. “I can’t get ahold of the other two, but you need to come back. Something is wrong with Patrick.”

Pete felt his stomach sink directly into Hell. 

He didn’t even breathe the entire way back to the bus, just making a beeline to it, up the stairs, and through the door. He deposited his gifts on the couch, taking off his soaked sweatshirt with a wince. His shoes followed as Brian stepped out of the bunks area. 

Brian wordlessly jerked his head and Pete walked quickly past him, pausing outside the bunk Patrick had retreated into. He gently tugged the curtain back to find Patrick curled on his side, facing the wall, breathing shallow. What Pete could see of his face was pale and he was clearly grinding his teeth.

“Hey,” Pete said softly. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Patrick whined a little, curling up more. Pete pressed a kiss to his shoulder and lightly touched his forehead. 

“You’re warm,” he said. “What’s going on, babe?”

“Hurts,” Patrick managed. 

“What hurts?” Pete asked. 

“Stomach,” Patrick said, and Pete carefully slipped into the bunk, pressing up behind Patrick and gently wrapping an arm around him. 

Patrick’s pain must have shelved his irritation because he pushed back almost immediately, straight into Pete’s arms with another soft whine. 

“How bad?” Pete asked. 

“Bad,” Patrick whispered. “Like an 8.”

“Shit, babe,” Pete said. “I’m sorry. Would food help?”

“No,” Patrick said immediately. “Disgusting.”

“Poor thing,” Pete said softly. “Do you want some Advil?”

“Took some,” Patrick said. “It _hurts_ , Pete.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete said gently. “C’mere, try and sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up. I love you so much.”

Patrick just sighed shakily.

\-----

Patrick did not feel better when he woke up. It was very, _very_ obvious that he, in fact, felt worse. His face was red, skin hot, and he hadn’t moved from the little ball he was still curled up in, clutching his stomach. 

“Trick,” Joe said, leaning on the wall outside the bunk. Pete craned his head back to look at him. 

He looked concerned, a frown on his face, eyes locked on Patrick’s clearly miserable frame. 

“He’s still asleep,” Pete said.

“No ‘m not,” Patrick mumbled. “What.”

“1-10?” Joe asked. 

“Fuckin’ 10,” Patrick grit out. “Go away.”

“I think we should explore the hospitals available in this town,” Joe said.

“No,” Patrick said. 

“Do you want me to ask Andy?” Joe asked. “Because I don’t think he’ll be as nice as me.”

“No,” Patrick repeated. “I don’t want to move. If you want me to see a doctor, bring the doctor to me.”

“We’re not that famous,” Joe said. “I’m concerned about my lead singer dying in a bunk somewhere in fucking Idaho.”

“I’ll help you,” Pete whispered. 

“Pete,” Patrick whined, a little pathetically. “Make it stop.”

“C’mon, babe,” Pete urged. “They can at least give you some pain meds or something, yeah?”

“I don’t want to move,” Patrick said. 

They wound up in the waiting room of St. Luke’s anyway, though Andy did have to put his foot down. Their fight (Pete’s attitude) was forgotten in place of worrying over Patrick. Pete was doing his best to balance the clipboard with the intake forms on it, fill it out, and also not jostle Patrick where he laid in a fetal position along Pete’s side. 

Joe was filling out the _reason for your visit_ paperwork and Andy was rubbing Patrick’s back gently. 

They made a good team, alright?

“Where does it hurt, Trick?” Joe asked, as Pete checked _asthma_. Patrick groaned. 

“Like,” he said, sounding genuinely near tears. “Like my side, I guess. Above my hip.”

“What side?” 

“Uh, right.”

Joe wrote that down as Pete checked _allergies: penicillin._ He scrawled _husband_ under _relation to patient_ and looked up as a nurse stopped in front of them. 

“Hi, Mr. Stump,” she said cheerfully. “My name’s Morgan, let me take you back. Who are you here with?”

“My friends and my husband,” Patrick managed, voice tight. 

“Alright,” Morgan said, flashing a smile at Pete. Evidently, she’d worked out that the person Patrick was in the lap of was probably his husband. “Why don’t we have your husband come back with us?”

“Okay,” Patrick said, and Pete gingerly helped him stand, heart aching as the twisted expression of pain on his face. His hands were shaking and Pete wrapped an arm around him. Joe stood, handing over the intake form and squeezing Patrick’s shoulder gently. 

“We’ll be waiting here,” he said, and Patrick nodded before leaning on Pete and walking, step by painful-looking step, through a door and into what looked like a regular doctor’s office. 

“We’re going to take some vitals, okay?” Morgan asked, and Patrick sucked in a quick breath but nodded. His blood pressure was high--he was in pain, Morgan explained--and so was his temperature. Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Patrick’s cheek and helped him walk again into the actual emergency room. 

“Let’s set you up here,” Morgan said, pulling a curtain back and gesturing towards a gurney. “We’re going to get an IV in you and get you some fluids and the doctor will be in shortly. When’s the last time he ate?”

“Uh,” Pete said, glancing at Patrick. “Dinner last night?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, grimacing at the mention of food. 

“Okay,” Morgan said. “Let’s get you all set up.”

Patrick nodded and Pete squeezed his hand. 

\-----

“Better,” Patrick said after Pete asked him how he was. It looked like whatever pain medication they gave Patrick was working, thank any diety that existed. They were waiting for the results of Patrick’s CT scan. Pete was currently hoping for the absolute best.

He kissed the back of Patrick’s hand. 

“I’m sorry I was a dick today,” he said, and Patrick flashed him a slightly wry grin. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll punish you later.”

“Kinky,” Pete said, before kissing Patrick’s forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Patrick said. “Although sometimes I wonder why.”

Pete just kissed him gently, grinning against Patrick’s lips. 

There was a knock at the door and then Morgan entered, followed by the downright lovely doctor that had been taking care of Patrick so far. Her crooked name badge said _Dr. Kulkarni_ and it was covered in stickers. She also wore bright pink scrubs under her coat and was so nice Pete actually started to think that not _all_ doctors sucked.

“Hi, Mr. Stump,” she said, sanitizing her hands. “We got your results back. It looks like an acute case of appendicitis, so you’re going to need surgery. We’ll keep you on the pain medication and put you under around five, so try and rest up, okay? You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said, but Pete could read his tone clear as day. He was _not happy,_ and Pete couldn’t blame him except for how he just knew Patrick was unhappy for the wrong fucking reason. 

Pete kissed Patrick’s forehead again as the doctor left. 

“Stop,” he said gently. “It’s not like you planned this. We’ll reschedule the shows we miss, that’s what we pay Brian for, it’s not your fault.”

“Those kids are so excited to see us,” Patrick said, voice small.

“They will still be excited when we come back to them,” Pete said. “I promise. The alternative is waiting for your appendix to burst, which will require significantly more time off, so stop it. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Patrick said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Are you gonna tell the guys?”

“I was gonna bring them back here,” Pete said. “That okay?”

Patrick nodded and Pete squeezed his hand. Pulling out a phone, he fired off a quick message to their dumb group chat Joe had labeled _the fall down guys_ and refused to let anyone change. 

_appendicitis. surgery in am. u can come back or go back to the bus if u want._

Joe replied immediately. 

_don’t be fucking stupid were staying. andy went to get coffee n well be right back_

Pete sent a dumb emoji before taking Patrick’s hand again. Patrick was clearly almost asleep so Pete didn’t wake him, just watched him. Not for the first time, he was struck by how incredible it actually was that he and Patrick got their shit together finally. They probably never would have if it weren’t for the hiatus, as much as Pete hated it. 

Patrick never ceased to be the most beautiful thing Pete had ever seen. He still had a bit of a temper, but not as much as he used to for sure, and was just….perfect. Kind and considerate and caring. Everything Pete had always tried to convince himself he didn’t deserve. 

“Hey,” Andy whispered from the door, noticing Patrick was asleep as well. “How’s he doing?”

“Upset,” Pete whispered back. “You know how he is. Upset we have to cancel shows. Afraid of disappointing people.”

“No one’s going to be disappointed,” Joe said, dropping into the seat on the other side of Patrick. 

“After how people treated him during Soul Punk, I’m not particularly surprised he’s reacting this way,” Andy said. “He’ll be okay, though. If I have to beat it into him.”

“I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing,” Joe snorted. Andy flipped him off. “Wait, Pete, look. I found this ugly as shit bear in the gift shop. It’s the worst thing in the world. Patrick will love it.”

The bear truly was ugly as shit, a weird puce green with a sad, droopy bow and unnervingly large button eyes. It looked like it belonged in _Coraline_ , and Joe was right, Patrick would love it. 

Joe carefully tucked it next to Patrick before sitting back with a sigh. 

“Man,” he said ruefully. “I had appendicitis when I was a kid. From what I remember it sucked balls.”

“Came on fast, didn’t it?” Andy asked. 

“He wasn’t feeling well yesterday,” Joe pointed out. “He was really irritable and cranky, remember?”

“No,” Andy deadpanned, looking directly at Pete. “I was distracted.”

Pete winced. 

“Sorry, guys,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what was wrong with me. I was a jerk.”

“Hell yes you were,” Joe said. “But I accept your apology. Was the stuff on the couch from you?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. 

“Double forgiven,” Andy said instantly. “Those cupcakes are fucking amazing.”

Pete cracked a grin before rubbing his eyes and sighing. 

“We can’t let Patrick blame himself when he wakes up,” he said. “Because you know he will. I think he has, like, a complex since Soul Punk where he can’t let anyone down, ever.”

“Assholes,” Joe said darkly. 

“We won’t let him,” Andy said. “He’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” Pete sighed, and they lapsed into silence. 

\-----

“Mr. Pete Wentz?” a nurse called, waking all three of them with a start. “For your husband?”

“Yeah,” Pete said immediately, standing and stretching. 

“I’ll get coffee,” Joe volunteered, and Pete gave him a thankful look before following the nurse to the recovery room. 

“He did great,” she said, leading him to Patrick’s bed. “We were able to do it laparoscopically, so he’ll be back on his feet in a few days and able to perform. He’ll be 100% in about a week.”

“That’s good news,” Pete said. 

“The doctor will go over some stuff with you regarding pain management, but he should be released tomorrow,” the nurse said. “We’ll keep him overnight for observation, but he did great.”

“Thank you,” Pete said, sitting in the chair next to Patrick’s bed. Patrick was barely stirring, so Pete gently took his hand. “Hi, babe.”

Patrick groaned. 

“It’s okay,” Pete reassured him. “I’m right here. Take your time.”

Patrick groaned again.

“Hello, you’re Mr. Stump’s husband, correct?”

Pete turned around, rising halfway out of his seat as the doctor approached. He shook the doctor’s hand before sitting as he pulled up a stool. 

“So he did great,” the doctor said, echoing the nurse’s words. “He was nice and calm for us when we put him under. Even the best patients usually need Valium, but he was fine. In terms of pain, he’ll be in some tomorrow and the next day, but it should quickly get better. Keep him on the schedule of medicine, don’t just wait until it hurts. Food with the meds. He’ll hate you for this next part, but he needs to walk around as often as possible in the next few days. Any questions?”

“He’s going to be fine?” Pete asked, before he could help himself. The doctor smiled gently.

“Yes,” he said. “Just fine.”

“Thank you,” Pete said. “I appreciate your help.”

“No problem at all,” the doctor said. “I’ll let you sit here as he wakes up. Once he’s recovered from the anesthesia, we’ll send him up to his room.”

Pete nodded and the doctor walked off. Pete watched him go for a moment before taking Patrick’s hand again and squeezing gently. 

“Hey,” Patrick whined, eyes closed. “Hurts.”

“What does, babe?” Pete asked. Patrick groaned. 

“Hurts,” he said again, nonsensical. “Dark.”

“Open your eyes, Trick,” Pete said, grinning, and Patrick did, with great effort. “There’s those gorgeous baby blues.”

“Pete,” Patrick whined. “Hurts.”

“I know, baby,” Pete said. “Once you’re done waking up, they’ll give you more painkiller.”

Patrick scowled. It was adorable. 

“Stop talking,” he said. “‘M tired.”

“Okay,” Pete said agreeably, fighting laughter. “Go back to sleep, then.”

“Sorry,” Patrick said, and Pete pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“We’ll talk later, but you don’t need to be sorry,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Patrick was out again before Pete had finished speaking.

Pete kissed him again and sat back, waiting.

\----

“I hate you,” Patrick muttered as Pete helped him off the bed. Pete rolled his eyes, but it was fond. Mostly. 

“You have to walk around,” he said patiently. “It will help with the pain.”

“Sure feels like it,” Patrick said mutinously, but walked anyway, Pete’s arm around him. 

“You’ll feel better,” Pete reassured him. “You can perform again in a week. We only have to reschedule two shows.”

“Only?” Patrick demanded. “Only? I didn’t want to miss _any.”_

“I know,” Pete said. “Unfortunately, you had appendicitis which is just a _bit_ outside your control, babe. The fans understand.”

Patrick sighed. 

“I said I wouldn’t disappoint them ever again,” he said softly, and Pete felt his heart crack in his chest. 

“Trick,” he whispered. “You’ve never disappointed anyone.”

“Soul Punk,” was all Patrick replied with. 

“That wasn’t a disappointment,” Pete argued. “That was people being assholes. Nothing about that album was disappointing. Do you know how many times I listened to it?”

Patrick gave Pete the tiniest of smiles. 

“That doesn’t count,” he said. “You’re my husband.”

“Fine,” Pete said. “So ask Andy, or Joe, or Brendon, or Twitter. The album is great, you didn’t deserve what you got, and having appendicitis is _not your fault._ I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

“Probably a lot,” Patrick said ruefully. “Sorry.”

“If the word _sorry_ leaves your mouth again in any capacity about this, I will divorce you,” Pete threatened without heat. Patrick kissed his cheek. “It’s really not your fault and everyone understands. Shit happens. If there was a fucking tornado or some shit we would have to reschedule, too. It’s out of our control. Believe me.”

“I’ll try,” Patrick promised. Pete kissed him. 

They finished their loop of the floor Patrick was on and reentered Patrick’s lonely little hospital room. Patrick lit up as they walked through the door. 

“Hi guys,” he said as Joe and Andy enveloped him in careful hugs. “I survived somehow.”

“Thank God,” Joe said. “Did you like the bear?”

“It’s hideous,” Patrick said. “I love it.” 

Joe grinned. 

“Thought you would,” he said proudly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Same,” Andy echoed, and Patrick hugged them both again. 

“When can he escape?” Joe asked Pete. 

“Whenever the doctor comes back around,” he replied. “Soonish, I think.”

“Brian got us a hotel for a few nights,” Andy said. “Figured it would be more comfortable than the bunks.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said. 

“Not my idea,” Joe said. “I was all for making you suffer.”

Patrick snorted. 

“Thanks,” he said again. Joe narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“Has Pete told you to stop the blaming yourself bullshit?” he asked. “Because I’m happy to help, you absolute loser. Not your fault.”

“Pete told me,” Patrick said, and Pete kissed his cheek. “I still feel bad.”

“I could punch you in your incisions and distract you,” Andy offered. 

“Tempting,” Patrick deadpanned. “But hard pass.”

A knock at the door derailed them and they turned to greet Dr. Kulkarni. She sanitized her hands and grinned at them.

“Hello, Mr. Stump,” she said. “Glad to see you up. You shouldn’t have a long recovery time at all. I’m here to free you from your chains but I expect your husband to take care of you.”

She leveled Pete with a stern look. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Pete said, saluting. Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he told her. “I appreciate everything.”

“It was no problem,” she assured him. “A nurse will bring you your discharge papers and then you will be free to go. Get well soon.”

“Thanks,” Pete said. He felt relief at the doctors words. At least he have confirmation that Patrick was _really_ going to be okay.

“Let’s get you home,” Andy said. Patrick nodded. 

——

Exactly one week later, Patrick was hyped up on the bus, heading for their next show. True to the doctor’s prediction, he felt completely fine, the three incisions just little healed dots, and he was fucking ready to perform. 

Pete was one _hundred_ percent sure Patrick still felt guilty, a feeling that was only confirmed when he peeked over Patrick’s shoulder and read the tweet he was composing. 

“No,” he said immediately, and Patrick pressed his phone to his chest defensively. “Trick, _no._ Not your fault. Don’t make me go through this with you again, babe.”

“I just wanted to thank them for their kindness,” Patrick said. 

“Then thank them for their kindness,” Pete said. “Don’t fucking apologize.”

“We still cancelled shows,” Patrick said sadly. 

“Blame your appendix,” Pete suggested. “And not fucking _yourself._ I’m serious.”

“I feel bad for ruining things,” Patrick said softly. Pete scowled. 

“That’s it,” he said, deftly snatching Patrick’s phone out of his hand before Patrick could react. “Come here.”

“And do what?” Patrick said. “Give me my phone back.”

“You can earn it back,” Pete said firmly, pushing Patrick into their bunk. “On your back.”

Patrick scowled. 

“Your solution to everything is fucking me,” he said. “Your dick is not magic.”

“This isn’t going to involve my dick,” Pete said, then paused. “Well, it’s not going to involve my dick going into you. On your back.”

Patrick scowled again but complied, even lifting his hips when Pete worked his pants down. 

“You can’t come until you admit this wasn’t your fault,” Pete said darkly, and Patrick shuddered, licking his lips a little. Pete didn’t otherwise warn him, just ducked down and sealed his lips around Patrick’s cock. 

Patrick moaned, high pitched and melodic, and tangled his hands in Pete’s hair, pulling it out of the ‘dumb fucking’ bun and pulling a little. Pete growled and deep throated, making Patrick cry out and arch his back, before going to town. Patrick was whimpering and pleading under his breath, just a litany of _fuck, fuck, god, Pete, please!_

“Admit it,” Pete said, pulling off for a moment. Patrick groaned. 

“ _Please,”_ he begged. Pete smirked, giving Patrick a couple firm strokes before mouthing at the head of Patrick’s cock. 

“Not what I asked,” Pete said, breath hot on Patrick’s cock, and Patrick groaned again. 

“Pete, fuck,” he panted, pushing weakly at Pete’s head in a clear plea for more. Pete licked once before pulling back. 

“Is it your fault that your appendix was a dick?” he asked. “Is it your fault that you had to have surgery and we missed a grand total of like, two shows?”

“No,” Patrick gasped. “No, no it’s not, Pete _please.”_

“Good boy,” Pete said, and Patrick’s moan was interrupted by a cry as Pete took Patrick back into his mouth and really went for it, giving Patrick the exact suction and rhythm he liked until Patrick was trembling and pleading incoherently, weakly tugging at Pete’s hair. 

Pete pulled off and stroked Patrick instead, sucking a bruising kiss into his hipbone. 

“You can come,” Pete said, and Patrick did immediately, arching up and gasping. His come hit Pete’s cheek and Pete smirked, stroking Patrick through it until Patrick winced and pushed him away. 

“You came on my face,” Pete teased. 

“That’s hot,” Patrick yawned. 

“Fair’s fair,” Pete said, and Patrick grinned. 

“You’re right,” he said. “Come here and jerk off on my face.”

Pete groaned and pulled himself free, carefully straddling Patrick’s chest. Patrick bit his lip and reached up, covering Pete’s hand with his own and stroking with him. 

It took no time at all until Pete moaned and came hard, right across Patrick’s face. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and collapsed to Patrick’s other side, wrapping an arm around him. 

“Believe me?” he asked. Patrick kissed him despite the come. 

“I think so,” he said quietly, and Pete kissed him again. 

——

**@PatrickStump**  
_I want to thank all the fans for being so kind to me! I’m all better now and ready to rock with you guys again. Fall Out Boy really does have the best fans in the world. See you on the road. Raleigh, we’re coming for you._

**Author's Note:**

> i exist only to serve you @ smalltalktorture.tumblr.com.
> 
> hope u liked this. when will i recover.


End file.
